When We Collide
by hey y'all watch this
Summary: He was born to be a Ranger. She was raised to be an assassin. What happens when they collide? Modern Day. AU. T for violence (and because I don't want to under rate it).
1. Prologue

**A/N. **

**Introduction: In search of something to do in my free time (when I actually have any), I started searching for the elusive modern day AU Ranger's Apprentice fics. I only found one: Hidden (it's by silvershadowrebel and I highly recommend it to anyone that might like this). Anyway, because it's a relatively untouched aspect of this fandom, I thought I'd give it a whirl, so I slightly modified a mysterious plot bunny that popped into my mind. So, here is what happens when my ADD kicks in when I have absolutely nothing to do.**

**Summary: He was born to be a Ranger. She was raised to be an assassin. What happens when they collide?**

Prologue: One day before

The dark haired man was tall, lean, fit, and swarthy. His clothes were black and dull purple, significant of a Genovesan assassin. According to most, the Genovesans were no longer operating and wreaking havoc on the world. That assumption world be incorrect, however. Genovesans were very much real and very operational. There was a team operating at the highest level of the Araluen Investigatory Service.

The man facing him was overweight with greying hair. He wore a white suit and had the air of a trained orator. His name was Alexander Tennyson and he was a real estate tycoon who had never wanted for anything a day in his life.

It was the richer of the mismatched two that spoke first. "You realize that I require the maximum amount public pandemonium, correct?"

The Genovesan nodded. "It will all go down at twelve noon tomorrow. You should hear about it on the news within seconds."

"I'll be following the social media feed of events. Your price remains the same?"

"For the job well done, two hundred thousand. Me and my teammates are busy people and causing a public panic always takes extra time."

"You will have it when the job is done. Meet my representative here at 12:30." Tennyson climbed into the waiting Mercedes limo and the driver pulled out of the lot on the second level of the parking garage.

The Genovesan turned and drove the cherry red Ferrari to the top deck. Then, he turned and left the parking garage to catch the next bus heading towards downtown Araluen City. The next job would be paying enough to keep him and his team under the radar for a good long while.


	2. Bait

**A/N. I am actually am going to try to keep Author's Notes to a minimum, however ironic that may appear. Anyway, I have loosely based this on the ****_Ranger's Apprentice_**** series (including plot bits and characters). So, here is the story and I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 1: Bait

_It's a trap and I am the bait._ It was the only thought going through her mind as she strode down the sidewalk, the click of her heels betraying no part of her nervousness. She had done this many times and it never got easier. They said it would. She didn't believe them.

"Why am I always the bait?" It was one of her many unasked questions. But it was just a job. They weren't paid to ask questions.

A quick glance in a shop window revealed that the target was still following her. There was a good distance between them, so she took advantage of the fact to speak into her sleeve transmitter. Pretending to scratch her nose, she said "Bacari, you had better have my back."

"Relax, bait," came the oh-so annoying voice in her ear. "I've got you covered."

"Silence on the comms," Luciano, the leader and get away driver, ordered.

Luciano was the oldest at 23, and therefore, the leader. Bacari, at 18, was next in command. He was tailing the target to intervene should anything go wrong. Marisi, 16, was the sniper strategically positioned on the skyscraper rooftop to allow for the best shot. That left her. She didn't know her name; didn't know how old she was; didn't know where she was from; didn't know who her family was, if she even had one.

She could guess and invent. Looking in the mirror, she reckoned that she was about 16 years old, give or take. She had given herself a name, Taylor Hayden Rockwell, but it didn't seem to fit. She could guess by her light skin, sandy hair, and blue eyes that she was from Araluen, the country where she had lived for the past several years, but she didn't know. There was no way to know.

With this description, she didn't match any of the other members of the team. She was the only female. The others had dark hair, olive skin, and dark brown/black eyes except Marisi and his twinkling green eyes. Maybe the differences were what always made her the bait.

Snapping her mind back to the job at hand, she glanced at a bus this time, a monstrous blue vehicle covered in neon adds, and saw the reflection in the paint. The target was almost four meters behind her. "Just another half-block," she thought.

Once the target had been eliminated, she would radio Luciano and give him a warning. Bacari would then pretend to stop to help, but would say the man was dead (and ensure that he was dead) and then slip into the crowd. He would meet up with Marisi outside the skyscraper and the two would meet up with her and Luciano in a parking garage. There, they would pickup their payment. It was simple and straightforward (as far as plans for the team went).

_Ten...Nine...Eight...Seven..._ He was only three meters behind her. _Six...Five...Four..._ Two meters and she could almost see Marisi's green eyes as they peered into the scope, waiting for the perfect shot. _Three...Two...One...Go!_ She turned around when she heard a grunt. She saw the target fall to the ground, a pool of blood seeping from beneath his torso. Marisi had gone for a kill shot, straight through the heart.

On cue, she screamed and joined the mob that tore away from the sight. As she ran, she pumped her arms, a disguise for action necessary to breathe "One minute" into her comm.

"Acknowledged," came Luciano's reply.

She didn't stop running until she reached the parking lot three blocks away that was her rendezvous with Luciano. Once in the parking lot, it took her less than a second to identify the get-away car, an old, beat-up, nondescript white Ford, and she hopped into the front passenger side seat.

"You know Bacari always gets the front seat," Luciano commented as he started the car and pulled out onto a side road.

"Well, Bacari isn't here right now," she replied. "Besides, it might look suspicious enough to the police for me to be riding in the backseat for them to start looking for me. The job means we can't leave any reason for them to think of us."

Luciano was silent for a moment. "Just don't call fives. He'd kill you."

She snorted, which contrasted profusely with her attire."I'd like to see him try. Do you have a cough drop? Screaming always does a number on my throat."

"There should be some in the glove compartment."

Wordlessly, she retrieved the package, pocketed three, and popped another into her mouth. "What?" she said when she saw him looking sidelong at her.

Wisely, Luciano turned his eyes to the road and said nothing. They could hear sirens everywhere and were even passed by several speeding police cruisers, but no one stopped them.

It took about ten minutes for them to navigate the convoluted city streets to get to the parking garage. After being buzzed through by an automatic toll-keeper they parked the car in a dark corner on the ground level.

Luciano hopped out and grabbed their field bags out of the trunk. She took hers and looked for somewhere to change. "There's a public bathroom in that corner over there." He pointed to the corner opposite them. "I know you're anxious to get out of that."

She glanced down at the grey blazer/skirt suit she was wearing. From her pinned up hair to her grey four inch heels, she looked like someone's secretary, not a teenager. Feeling even more uncomfortable than before, she tugged at the corner of the white blouse, the only thing she was wearing that she actually owned. "Ain't that the truth."

Quickly as the heels would permit, she scuttled across the dirty concrete floor to the even dirtier bathroom and locked the door behind her. Dropping the field bag on the floor, she peeled the heels off her feet and threw them into a corner. The bun came next: with the removal of a couple of bobby pins, her sandy hair came cascading in wavy sheets down her back. Then, she sunk to her knees and opened her bag. Rifling around, she shifted Gore-Tex coveralls, rations, and three Glocks around until she finally found her change of clothes. She gratefully extracted herself from the suit and dressed in her extra clothes.

When she was done, she looked down at her attire and smiled; it was her favorite way to dress: a black v-neck T-shirt, dark blue skinny jeans, black flat boots that came to the mid-calf, and a purple hoodie, unzipped. Looking in the mirror, she noted that she still was wearing the heavy makeup that her role had forced her to don. Within thirty seconds, it was gone. For a finishing touch, she pulled her dog-tag necklace out from under her shirt and plaited her hair in a side braid.

She glanced at the mirror again. _Now I look like myself. _

It took her a few seconds to rearrange the stuff in her bag. When she was finished, she slung the field bag over her shoulder, unlocked the door, and exited the bathroom. When the smell of parking garage hit her as being fresh, she knew that she had been breathing something less than primo.

"Took you long enough," Luciano commented. He had already changed into a black T-shirt, black cargo pants, combat boots, and a purple pullover hoodie with a college logo on it.

"Just toss me my knives," she replied, chucking her bag on the ground. Standard carry for any member of the team was three throwing knives, various poisons, a nine millimeter pistol with two extra clips of ammunition, and a .223 sniper rifle with a box of ammunition.

Luciano took her three knives out of the glove compartment of the car and handed her all of them. She stuck the only one with a three inch blade in a sheath in her boot. The remaining two were six inches in blade length and one went into a sheath in her waistband while the other went under her left arm.

"You look happy," Bacari commented as he and Marisi walked up to them.

"What do you expect? I'm out of high heels, in a pair of jeans, and I have my knives on me again," she retorted, knowing that no member of the team really felt complete without their weapons, particularly their knives.

"All good?" Marisi asked, more directed at her than at Luciano.

She nodded in response.

"Now you slowpokes are here, we can go collect our payment," Luciano said, beckoning them to the stairs.

The team walked up the stairs to the second level. They always took the stairs. Elevators were crowded deathtraps that usually had security cameras.

As the youngest member of the team, she walked in the middle. Luciano, as leader, lead and Bacari brought up the rear. That left her and Marisi in the middle. Both of them had knives drawn and concealed in their right hands. Being older, the two on the outside were supposed to be faster with their weapons. But it wasn't true. She and Marisi were the fastest. Luciano and Bacari were simply more ruthless.

It was like something out of a movie. The team approached a high dollar car with tinted windows. A massive man in a suit tailored to fit handed Luciano a suitcase. He, in turn, handed it back to her and she opened it. Once she had checked to make sure that the box was not booby-trapped and the full payment was present, she handed it back to Marisi, the one who would actually carry the money.

Luciano spoke. "All accounted for. We did as you requested; nothing creates more public panic than a sniper and a planted screamer."

The massive man nodded. "We have seen the news coverage. Excellent work. We may require your services again."

"If you and your boss pay this well as a habit, it will be a pleasure to work with you."

The giant climbed into the backseat and the car took off, leaving them standing in a near deserted lot.

"There's another car on the top lot. We can take that one back to headquarters," Luciano said. "We just have to pick up the field bags."

"Can I drive?" she asked hopefully.

In response, Luciano tossed her the keys.

As they got to the top of the stairs and looked out on the parking lot, her mood improved even more, if possible. Their return vehicle was a Ferrari with an extended cab to allow for four passengers. At this point, Bacari and Marisi would usually begin to argue about who got to sit up front. True to form, they began squabbling. Luciano quelled it quickly, however.

"I sit shotgun," he said. They didn't dare contest him. Then, he turned to her. "Please don't kill us."

"It's a Ferrari. No promises," she replied, easily sliding into the driver's seat. While the others were climbing in, she cranked up the car and revved the engine.

"We're gonna die," Bacari said. She peeled out the moment those words left his mouth.

The Ferrari handled like a dream. She could give it the slightest nudge and it would respond instantly. And, contrary to the team's opinion, she was an excellent driver. Needless to say, they got back to Headquarters in one piece.

Headquarters for the team was a compound inside the central government complex. While they did contract themselves to do odd jobs (like the one they had just performed), most of the work the team did was for the government, thus the luxury of a well-equipped compound. To access the compound, you had to have Level 22 or higher security clearance. Level 22 was the level that most representatives and senators were at. The team had Level 26 clearance which put them on par with the President himself and gave them access to most of the top secret information that the government possessed.

Now, she pulled up to the gate and showed the guard their clearance papers and ID badges. He examined the document carefully and matched their faces with the IDs before he returned all of the information to her and allowed them through.

The compound was rather nondescript on the outside, like it could have been an accountant's office. The inside, however, was anything but. The floor was tiled with black marble and the walls were grey with black and white designs. Once past the entryway, a massive dojo consumed a copious quantity of space. That contained sparring mats, a full indoor shooting range, and all sorts of heavy-bags and other hand-to-hand training materials. Other doors lead to the gun locker, team members' bedrooms, entertainment center, and well stocked kitchen. Below the kitchen was a laboratory where the team (namely Bacari) created and refined the various poisons they used. An underground garage held the many cars they used for jobs, personal use, and anonymity. A closet in the garage held all disguises.

Parking the Ferrari, she climbed out easily. The rest emerged on wobbly legs. "You didn't need to put the car up on two wheels," Bacari commented, leaning against a Subaru and clutching his stomach. The other two were silent, but the slight green tinge to their faces told the whole story. Marisi's green eyes had lost their twinkle. "I didn't know a car could stay up on two wheels for so long!" Bacari continued.

"I thought we were trying to avoid police attention," Luciano said, having recovered a little.

"It was so overt, it was covert," she retorted.

Marisi, now in a bit better shape as well, chuckled. "She's got you there, Luciano."

"Besides that, the cops were too focused on our bit of mayhem to notice," Bacari added.

"Since when is this a democracy?" Luciano grumbled under his breath.

"What'd you say?" Marisi asked, pretending not to hear.

Luciano grabbed his field bag out of the trunk and stormed off without another word.

"That's what I thought you said," she muttered.

Two hours later, after she had showered and taken a nap, she emerged from her room and walked into the dojo. Luciano was training on a heavy-bag and Bacari and Marisi were playing Modern Warfare 3 in the entertainment center. "Want to have a go?" Luciano asked, offering her the heavy-bag.

She glanced down at the grey sweatpants and purple T-shirt she was wearing. It was doable. "Sure," she replied.

Luciano moved away from the heavy-bag to give her some room. "What's on your mind?" he asked as he wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead.

She took her position in front of the heavy-bag and fired a roundhouse kick at it. "How'd you know?"

"You always look kind of moody when you've been thinking hard about something."

A snap-kick hit the center of the heavy-bag; the force of the kick sending it swinging. "It's my name, Luciano," she replied. Luciano was like a big brother to the team and she wasn't as reluctant to talk to him as she might be to anyone else, excluding Marisi, perhaps. "Or, rather, my lack of one." A palm-heel strike shook the heavy-bag.

"I thought you chose a good one. Taylor Hayden Rockwell. It seems to suit you."

Two consecutive hammer-fist strikes this time. She never stopped moving, her feet dancing on the floor mats. "The problem is that I don't know my family or where I came from or even how old I am. It leaves me to wonder who I really am. As far as I know, I could be the Queen of Skandia."

"Does it really matter?"

"You, Bacari, and Marisi know your families." Another roundhouse.

"Bacari shot his father."

"That's beside the point." Another snap-kick.

"well, actually, it's not. Because we know our families, we are tied to them and they shape us, whether we like it or not. You can create yourself without any other influences; we have our families' pasts to reckon with. So, in all honesty, it can be a blessing, not a curse."

"I need to know. If nothing else, just my name. Without it, I am just so disparate." A knife-hand.

Luciano decided to try another tactic. "Let me put it this way: ordinary people are born and shaped. Extraordinary people shape themselves. You have been given the chance to shape yourself from the foundation up. Take advantage of it, and you could become most extraordinary."

She paused, her elbow strike never quite hitting the heavy-bag. "Thanks, Luciano."

He shrugged, a common practice for any member of the team. "Let me know when you find a name you like. I'm tired of calling you 'bait.'"

"Taylor will do. I kind of like it."

He nodded, a smile on his face. " Then 'Taylor Hayden Rockwell' it shall be." It was over pompous, but it made her laugh. Within a few seconds, Taylor was leaning against the wall laughing. "Hey," Luciano continued, "it sure beats 'bait.'"


End file.
